A Man of Few Words
by aliasfluffyone
Summary: Bounty hunters ought to know better, really. Trying for amnesty days, Spring 1883
1. Ain't Done Yet

Disclaimer: Alias Smith and Jones does not belong to me. This is fan fiction, not for profit. Any references to people, places, businesses, etc. are entirely fictitious.

A Man of Few Words

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"No!"

At the frantic shout, Leroy Hopkins turned his horrified gaze from the downed man in front of him. The outcry came from the previously silent man seated beside the fire. Heedless of the pistol Jubal pointed at him, the unarmed gunslinger moved. Kid Curry, or Thaddeus Jones as his loquacious companion insisted, was halfway to a stand before the young bounty hunter picked up a piece of firewood and poleaxed him. The stick broke. Their prisoner fell to the ground with a heavy thud. Jubal's wide eyes met Hopkins.

"He… he… he didn't listen," protested the gangly twenty year old. Jubal dropped the remnant of the heavy stick from his grasp. "I tol' him not to move! Tol' him I was gonna shoot him jus' like you said, but I didn't shoot him."

Hopkins nodded his grudging approval at the pale faced young man. Most times, the wild youth didn't have a lick of sense, but Jubal followed directions. At least the Edna's boy hadn't shot his charge. Hopkins turned back to face the hardened man standing beside him. The grizzled man had always prided himself on bringing the men he captured in alive. Not for the first time this week, Hopkins regretted including Rufus Baxter in this hunt. The willful man had been pushing and prodding, second guessing him and balking at every decision Hopkins made.

"Did you have to hit him so hard?" grumbled the bounty hunter with a gesture towards the man crumpled on the ground before them. "He had his hands up."

"You wanted them subdued," reminded the cold eyed man.

Baxter lowered his rifle. Hopkins was surprised the stock didn't drip blood. The cruel bounty hunter's lips curled upwards in a smile as he looked at the man face down at his feet.

"Besides he talked too much."

"Talkin' too much ain't a crime," snorted Hopkins with a frown. "Or you'd be in jail."

Hopkins surveyed the ruined campsite. Early morning mist still clung to the cold ground. Just a few minutes ago the smooth talking, dark haired member of the pair had been smiling affably, earnestly telling them all they had the wrong men. Now Hannibal Heyes, or Joshua Smith as he claimed, sprawled face down in the dirt, motionless, worryingly quiet. The curly haired blond at least groaned. Jubal holstered his pistol. Hopkins swallowed. He should be feeling elated, his plan to surround and invade his quarry's camp worked. Mostly. Of course his plan didn't call for anyone, including their prisoners, getting hurt.

"Hoo wee!" The quiet was broken by Jubal's exuberant shout. The excited man grinned and raked his hand through his greasy brown hair, pushing it back from his face. "We done caught the two most successful outlaws in the west! We're gonna be famous!"

"We're gonna be rich," corrected Baxter. Gloating, he continued with a smirk. "Twenty thousand dollars, and they didn't even get a shot off."

"Well that fella did say they was peaceable…," began Jubal.

The rifle in Baxter's hands flipped suddenly. The volatile man took aim across the camp. Jubal backed away from the fair haired prisoner. The frightened youth stumbled, knocking over the coffee pot with a loud clang. The fire hissed. The aroma of brewing coffee dissipated as smoky tendrils of steam climbed upwards from the dampened wood. Jubal swatted at his warming backside. Baxter's rifle barrel followed Jubal's nervous movements. Jubal seemed oblivious to the fire, the smoke, and the now moving prisoner. The young bounty hunter's full attention was on Baxter's rifle.

"Don't you go pointing that thing at me!" protested Jubal Banks.

Baxter's rifle barrel trailed Jubal's movements for a moment longer. The brassy man gave a contemptuous sneer and then Baxter turned his aim to the struggling man on the ground. Curry pushed himself up on his hands and knees, shook his head as if to clear it, started to stand, swayed and thought better of it. The injured man fell back to his knees. Baxter's fingers twitched as the denim clad man crawled towards his friend. A shot plowed a furrow into the dirt mere inches from Curry's fingertips.

"Don't move," ordered Baxter.

"He's hurt," responded a soft spoken voice.

The determined blond pressed forward, only slowing due to necessity. Curry wiped the trickle of blood coming down his forehead away from his eyes. Beside Hopkins, Baxter shifted his aim.

"Stubborn ain't he," sneered Baxter with a sidelong glance at Hopkins. Turning back to stare at the crawling captive the bounty hunter raised his voice. "Next one's going in your head."

The stalwart man continued to crawl towards his partner. Baxter raised the gun and sighted down the long, gleaming black barrel.

"The reward money won't be paid if the law can't identify our prisoners," intervened Hopkins.

A disappointed sigh came from Baxter. The rifle barrel shifted to point at the crawling man's exposed back. Bark and ash streaked the once white shirt.

"And it's at least a three days ride to Wildwood," reminded Hopkins.

"So…"

Baxter's callous unspoken question shook Hopkins, but at least the brutal gunman didn't pull the trigger.

"I ain't picking them fellas up," declared Hopkins. He tucked his thumbs under his suspenders and nodded sagely. "Usually I leave my prisoners alive to get themselves on and off their horses. It's easier on the back."

"They both look awful heavy," chimed in Jubal, nodding in agreement.

Baxter frowned, but the man didn't lower his rifle.

"And dead bodies tend to swell, get unsightly…," Hopkins paused, letting his words sink in. "Which brings us back to the reward money. The bounty won't be paid if the law can't identify them. You probably already cost us ten thousand…"

"He ain't dead yet," interrupted Baxter.

Hopkins arched a bushy eyebrow upwards in disbelief. Baxter kicked the body of the brown haired man lying on the ground. As the unconscious man rolled onto his back, he let out an involuntary moan. Dirt marred his face and the Henley he wore, but there was no sign of the hard blow Heyes had received.

"Subdued, not dead," stated Baxter.

Baxter's rifle continued to point at Curry. Hopkins moved the chaw of tobacco from one side of his mouth to the other and spat in disgust. The brown splotch landed at Baxter's feet. The fastidious man wrinkled his nose and did a back step.

"Can't get hisself up on a horse," Hopkins grunted in reply.

"We'll do it your way for now, old man," conceded Baxter. He lowered his rifle, bent down and dragged the lean bodied man up onto his shoulder. With a slight oomph, he rose to stand. "Don't worry, I'll get this one on his horse."

Hopkins' angry retort died as Baxter stalked off towards the tethered horses with his load. The insolent man glanced back at Jubal.

"Jubal you bring what's his name."

Curry raised his head. For the first time, Hopkins saw the quiet captive's blazing blue eyes. The gunman's gaze followed Baxter and his partner. Hopkins shivered. Had Baxter noticed the threat in those eyes? If looks could kill, Baxter would be dead. Jubal approached Curry.

"C'mon, let's get you up on your horse," coaxed the wary young man to the muscular blond. "You'll be able to see your friend then."

The younger man bent to pull the prisoner upright. Curry staggered as he rose, but Jubal swiftly ducked under his arm and headed Curry towards the horses, Baxter and Heyes. As the pair plodded past him, Hopkins realized he should have just gone after Curry and Heyes on his own. Bringing along a green youth like Jubal was a mistake. Bringing on a troublemaker like Baxter might get them all killed.

"Job ain't done yet," reminded the leader of the bounty hunters in a sour tone, all too aware that no one was listening. "We still gotta get them fellas to town and turn them in before we can collect the reward."

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	2. Count On It

Disclaimer: Alias Smith and Jones does not belong to me. This is fan fiction, not for profit. Any references to people, places, businesses, etc. are entirely fictitious.

A Man of Few Words

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"He needs water."

Hopkins looked across the feeble flickering flames he was trying to coax into a campfire. The five men had stopped for the night, earlier than the bounty hunter would have liked. Wildwood was still more than two days ride away. The gunnie was right. Hopkins knew it. Heyes needed water. Kid Curry probably needed water too. A strident voice interrupted the bounty hunter's musings.

"What did you say old man?" called Baxter.

Leroy Hopkins frowned at Baxter's approach. Roping the unconscious Heyes over his chestnut's back this morning was the troublemaker's mistake. Letting him stay that way, just because Hopkins didn't want to knuckle under to Kid Curry's growl of protest, was Hopkins' mistake. They hadn't been riding more than ten minutes when the first bout of upchucking started. Curry had _fallen_ off his horse almost immediately. The bounty hunters dismounted then to regroup. Having Baxter ride double to keep Heyes upright worked until the next round of upchucking. And so, they'd stopped again. Baxter and Jubal traded off carrying Heyes for the rest of the long day. Hopkins wasn't fool enough to put his prisoner's together, and he certainly wasn't going to carry the upchucking man himself. After several more stops, the riders finally decided to settle for the night at this sheltered spot near a creek. Baxter hauled Heyes off his horse and then dragged him beneath a tall Ponderosa pine. The unpleasant man never bothered to check his prisoner's wrist restraints. Not for the first time, Hopkins wondered at Baxter. What kind of bounty hunter doesn't check his prisoners bonds? Hopkins had at least taught Jubal to have some caution. The gangly youth checked Curry's wrist bindings before helping his prisoner down from his mount. Together they staggered to the pines. While Jubal and Baxter took the horses down to the creek, Hopkins shackled the blond. He decided the ropes on Heyes were still tight and would be good enough to hold an unconscious man. Prisoners settled to his satisfaction, Hopkins started the tiny fire. Shaking his head, he answered Baxter's question.

"Wasn't me," Hopkins nodded toward the curly haired prisoner. He fed the fire another twig. "It was him."

"Nah, really?" objected Baxter in a mocking tone. He dropped this saddlebags on the ground with a thump, stirring up a small cloud of dust. Baxter's scalp showed through his thinning, slicked back, wet hair. "Everyone knows his partner is the talker, I didn't think he could speak."

Hopkins bushy eyebrows arched up in surprise.

"You going deaf?" The grizzled bounty hunger reached for another piece of kindling and gingerly placed it on the fire. "As I recall, he didn't take kindly to you hitting Heyes with your rifle butt this morning."

"Huh?" Baxter frowned for a moment, then crooked yellow teeth gleamed beneath his straggly black horseshoe mustache as he remembered. "Oh, you mean when he shouted 'No' at me?"

"Yeah."

"That's just one word!"

Baxter squatted down to kneel beside Hopkins. The brash man added a thicker stick to the struggling fire, nearly putting it out.

"Said two words later," reminded Hopkins. The gruff man batted his assistant's hand away. "And three more just now."

"Three more what?" called Jubal's voice.

The sleeves of Jubal's union suit were pushed up past his elbows. Straps of three canteens looped around his neck, two more draped over his left shoulder along with his wet blue shirt. Jubal held the coffee pot precariously out in front of him. Horses on the picket line nickered as the youth trudged up the pebbled slope.

"Never you mind." Baxter beckoned. "Just bring that water here. And hurry up about it."

Jubal obliged while Baxter moved away from the fire, unfurled his bedroll and proceeded to make himself comfortable. Hopkins took the coffee pot first and then his canteen. Jubal crossed over to set Baxter's canteen down by the recumbent man.

"Quit dripping on me boy," snarled Baxter.

"You're just as wet," protested Jubal. He backed away from Baxter. He took a deep breath and blurted out, "And d… don't call me boy. I'm a grown man!"

"Barely," snorted Baxter.

Jubal stumbled to a stop when his heels touched his saddlebags. The young man lowered his canteen to the ground and then stepped towards the prisoners.

"What do you think you're doing?" snapped Baxter.

Jubal blinked in surprise. He pointed to the two men beneath the pines. The tall blond sat upright beside his unmoving partner. The waning sunlight filtered through the tree branches touching on the reddened bindings on his wrists. Another shaft of light struck the black metal leg irons which glinted like too tight lacings on his brown boots. The upturned face of the unconscious prisoner was starkly white. Riding all day hadn't done him any good.

"They… they need water," answered Jubal.

Hopkins narrowed his eyes, watching the verbal battle. Jubal had quit stuttering about a year or two after his sister's worthless husband had abandoned Edna and the boy. Leroy had taken it upon himself to make sure the abusive wretch never came back. He watched out for family when he could.

"They're outlaws!" exploded Baxter. "The only thing those two need is a cold cell or a rope around the neck."

Jubal blinked at the harsh words. Baxter had been increasingly short tempered with the young man as the long day wore on, but Hopkins was pleased to see his nephew straighten his shoulders and stand his ground.

"In all the banks and trains they robbed…," began Jubal.

A voice cut across the camp.

"Ain't wanted for murder."

Hopkins, Baxter and Jubal turned as one to stare at the men sheltered beneath the pines. Still bound hand and foot, the fair haired man had placed himself between his captors and his partner. Baxter was the first to find his voice.

"Ooh," mocked the mustached bounty hunter. "Now we got him talking! Four words."

Hopkins stiffened at Baxter's taunt. Although Hopkins knew Curry hadn't said _'yet'_ , he recognized the menace in his prisoner's quiet demeanor. Didn't Baxter? The soft spoken prisoner now had his lips pressed shut in a thin tight line. The glare in his eyes spoke for him. Hopkins had been chasing down dangerous men for a lot of years. He wasn't one for letting prisoners get away. The bounty hunter pulled his pistol from his holster and pointed it at Curry.

"Baxter, check his shackles, then haul him back up to the tree. Tie him to it this time," ordered the older man. "Then put shackles on the other fella too…"

"Me? Why me?" protested Baxter.

Hopkins turned his glare on Baxter, the weapon in his hand now pointed at the scoundrel.

"Because if he makes a wrong move, I won't mind shooting either one of you," seethed Hopkins.

Uncharacteristically subdued, Baxter made quick work of checking Curry's restraints. He pulled the muscular man back to the base of the big old pine and roped the prisoner to the trunk as well. As Baxter knelt beside Heyes' motionless form he looked back at Hopkins.

"Do you really think we need leg irons on him too?"

"Get 'em," growled Hopkins.

"Why?" Baxter sounded surprised. "You can't really think he's playing possum..."

"Remember all those hidden pockets and what he had in them?" retorted Hopkins. "Heyes is a tricky one."

Hopkins didn't really think the injured man was faking. Earlier, when he searched Heyes' coat he'd confiscated a skeleton key, six different sized lock picks, a knife and a folding metal gadget marked with lines and numbers. It worried him that he still had no idea what that folding metal doohickey was for or why it was in Heyes' boot. Baxter hadn't found anything more dangerous than a bag of peppermints and a lace trimmed handkerchief in Curry's coat. Nervous at Curry's implied threat, Hopkins wasn't going to chance an unfettered Heyes coming to in the middle of the night.

"Be quick about it now," prodded Hopkins.

Baxter hurriedly retrieved the other set of shackles. When he finally stepped away from the prisoners, Hopkins gestured to Jubal to move forward.

"Now, they need water," declared Hopkins.

The lanky young man settled one canteen into Curry's hands. The former outlaw's bound wrists made it awkward to hold the container. His long slender fingers splayed wide, grasping, but the fair haired man didn't drink. His expressive blue eyes had Jubal nodding.

"Yeah, I'll make sure he swallows some."

Jubal began tending Heyes. From one of his pockets, the youth retrieved a clean handkerchief. Jubal dabbled it with water and began to scrub the inert man's face. Baxter moved back to his bedroll. Hopkins returned his gaze to the fire, prodding the tiny flames, carefully adding slightly larger pieces of kindling. The sound of a sudden coughing fit jerked his head up in alarm. Hopkins fully expected to see his nephew being throttled, but it was just Curry coughing. Jubal was fine. He had one long arm supporting Heyes' shoulders. With his other hand, Jubal held the canteen as he tried to pour water into Heyes' mouth.

"It's gonna get chilly when the sun goes down," reminded Jubal. "Most likely they're gonna need their bedrolls and coats."

Jubal's gaze settled on Baxter. While Hopkins had returned Heyes' empty coat to the former outlaw's saddlebags, Baxter kept Curry's coat. The soft, warm sheepskin now lay folded beneath Baxter's head.

"Phht, I ain't gonna mollycoddle the likes of them outlaws," snorted Baxter. "Their bedrolls are with the rest of the gear, near the horses."

"They need something to keep warm," protested Jubal.

"Bedrolls, yes," Hopkins grudgingly agreed with a nod to Jubal. "But unroll them first, shake 'em out and check them for anything that ain't blanket."

By the time Jubal got back with the bedding, Baxter had tugged his hat over his eyes. Hopkins had the small fire at a steady glow. He settled the coffee pot. His stomach rumbled, a reminder that it had been a long time since he'd finished the last of his jerky. Hardtack and beans didn't sound appetizing. They should have done some hunting along the ride today, but they were too wound up tending to their prisoners. The others would have to feed themselves tonight. Hopkins wasn't cooking. The bounty hunter leaned back, feeling every year in his bones. He rolled his shoulders trying to unkink tired muscles. Tomorrow would be another long day.

"Jubal, you've got first watch," announced Hopkins. "Wake Rufus for the next one, then I'll take third watch."

"Sure thing," agreed Jubal as he finished spreading blankets over the prisoners.

The young man returned to the campfire while Hopkins clambered onto his bedroll and stretched out. Jubal pulled a harmonica out of his pocket before seating himself by the fire. The mouth organ had almost reached his lips when Hopkins spoke again.

"No harmonica playing tonight!"

"But..."

"Not tonight Jubal! I'm going to sleep, I want some peace and quiet," snarled Hopkins. Jubal's head bobbed up and down. "And make sure to save me some coffee."

From beneath the pines, a soft voice spoke.

"No music _and_ no supper?"

Hopkins curled his lips up into a harsh frown as he answered the blond. Each word rolled out hard and heavy, thudding like rocks in an avalanche.

"No music. No supper. And most especially no escaping."

"But they ain't even tried…" began Jubal.

"Prisoners always try to escape!" roared Hopkins. "You can count on it!"

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	3. Leaving Tracks

Disclaimer: Alias Smith and Jones does not belong to me. This is fan fiction, not for profit. Any references to people, places, businesses, etc. are entirely fictitious.

A Man of Few Words

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

"Raaaarrh!"

The distant scream jerked Hopkins from his restless sleep. The crescent moon rising barely above the mountain ridge didn't provide enough light to see well. The grizzled man sat up straight and squinted, looking for the source of danger. Baxter prowled the campsite, pistol in hand twisting his head left and right. Jubal sat by the fire, his wide eyes staring. The prisoners were in pretty much the same place. The gunman was still tied to the tree, his partner now curled up on his side.

"Wh… what was that?" Jubal's voice quavered. "S… sounded just like a woman screaming."

"No… it was a wild animal…," objected Baxter, but he sounded uncertain.

"Cougar," a sure voice stated. "Ain't close."

Jubal's hands shook. He prodded the coals with a narrow stick, sending sparks up. Flames flickered higher, casting baleful shadows between men and trees. The light reflected in Curry's watchful eyes. Hopkins didn't want to agree with the prisoner, but he did want to calm Jubal and Baxter. Frightened people did foolish things, made mistakes. Not good for a bounty hunter, or anyone for that matter.

"Ain't nothing to worry about," soothed Hopkins. "That critter is a long ways off. Get back to sleep."

"I'm not getting back to sleep any time soon after hearing that," shuddered Baxter. He holstered his pistol and looked towards the warmth and safety of the fire. "I'll start my watch now. Jubal, you get some sleep."

Jubal looked as if he didn't appreciate being ordered about by Baxter. However he didn't argue. The youth laid his stick beside the ring of stones. He burrowed beneath his blanket before Baxter settled himself at the fireside.

"Baxter, be sure to keep the fire going," ordered Hopkins. He turned to Jubal and tried to sound reassuring. "Get to sleep, we've got a long ride tomorrow."

Hopkins didn't think he'd sleep at all, but he dozed off grateful that Baxter hadn't asked Jubal how he knew what a woman's scream sounded like.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

"Raaaarrh!"

The second scream woke Hopkins about two hours later. Baxter stood by the blazing fire. The fractious man nervously twisted and turned, trying to look everywhere at once. Jubal's eyes were open even wider, wilder, than before. Firelight flickered in the open eyes of the fair-haired prisoner. Curry still watched, it looked like Heyes might have tried to roll over.

"That creature sounded like it was right here in the camp!" hissed Baxter.

"Sounded closer," agreed Jubal.

Jubal's shoulders scrunched together as the shivering young man tried to not show his fear.

"Can't be," insisted Hopkins. "The horses are too quiet for that."

The wary sound of horses nickering an alert mingled with the rush of tumbling water coming from the nearby creek. Restless mounts shifted their hooves along the lead line, but there was no sign of a panic yet, no sign of flight. Well, at least no sign of panic among the horses.

"Then why did it howl like that?" two voices asked at once.

"Caught its prey," a calm, confident voice stated.

Hopkins narrowed his eyes and frowned. He wasn't too worried about the distant cougar roaming into their campsite, but a prisoner with gumption in his campsite? That was something to worry about.

"What do you know about cougars?" snarled Hopkins. Without waiting for an answer, he turned to the man adding more branches to the fire. "Baxter, I told you to keep the fire going, but no so high! That wood has to last until morning!"

"But…"

"Quit your bellyaching! It ain't that cold," interrupted Hopkins. He glared at the men surrounding him. "Now I'm going back to sleep. Don't wake me until it's my watch!"

Hopkins and Jubal were both asleep before Baxter spoke again in a low voice out of the side of his mouth. His eyes watched Hopkins while he surreptitiously added another piece of wood to the fire.

"Do you really know anything about cougars?"

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

"Yes," breathed Kid a short while later.

No one else could hear his soft exhalation. The last strands of rope parted from his wrists. He flexed his hands. Sawing at the thick rope with the narrow four inch serrated blade he'd retrieved from his partner's hatband had been slow, painstaking work. He kept a watchful eye on the bounty hunters. Hopkins snored. Baxter crouched in a tense, tight ball by the roaring fire. Jubal slept curled up with his back towards the warmth of the fire, facing away from the pines and the prisoners. The dexterous man next inserted the blade in the lock holding the shackles tightly against his legs. He glanced over at his still companion.

"I know you could open it quicker, but just be patient. I'm gonna get us out of here partner," Curry's low whisper promised.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

The next time Hopkins woke up, the first shafts of early morning sunlight warmed his face. Baxter sprawled beside the cold fire. Jubal snored softly beneath his blanket. And the prisoners were gone.

"Baxter!" roared Hopkins.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

"Good lungs," muttered Kid with a rueful grin at the sound of Hopkins' angry shout.

Gentle hands tucked the red blanket more firmly around his unconscious partner. Kid's tired blue eyes blinked. After ensuring that Baxter couldn't follow them, Kid moved Heyes out of the bounty hunters camp. They heading north first. As soon as they neared the twisting turning creek Kid hoisted his partner over his shoulder. Heyes didn't get wet when Kid waded back downstream. A hiding spot for his unconscious partner was Kid's first priority.

"You'll be safe here Joshua," assured Kid.

Bushes blocked the view of this sheltered rocky ledge on the opposite side of the creek from the horses, their gear and the bounty hunters. This temporary hideout was a bit closer to the bounty hunters than Kid would have liked but Heyes needed to be resting, not carried all over the countryside. Once Heyes was settled, Kid removed the ropes and shackles from his injured partner. Kid didn't like leaving Heyes alone, but he needed to ensure the bounty hunters couldn't find them. Kid back tracked all the way from their hiding spot to the water's edge. With every step, he carefully wiped away any sign of their presence. Back tracking further, Kid reached the bounty hunter's camp. Baxter was still out while the others slept. Kid erased any signs of where he'd got the drop on Baxter. Then he carefully stepped in his previous footprints making the initial path to the river with Heyes clearly evident. Once he crossed the water he laid a loop of false tracks zigzagging northwards back and forth across the stream several times, followed by a second parallel set of tracks. He'd sloshed in and out of the water for most of the night.

"Well partner, I reckon it won't be long before those fellas find the tracks I left," murmured Kid.

He moved the canteen closer to the set of shackles piled in front of Heyes' face. If Heyes woke while Kid was away, they would be the first things the mastermind would see. A warm bed, a warning and water was all Kid could give his partner right now. Kid needed to wipe away the signs of his most recent return to check on Heyes. With any luck, the bounty hunters would split up when they reached the beginning of his trail back to the rocky ledge and Kid would only have to deal with one man hunter at a time.

"You just rest now, Joshua. I'll be back as quick as I can."

He picked up the only weapon he had right now. He'd fashioned the small slingshot from a pine branch and piece of shredded rope. The crude weapon had served to take Baxter down. Taking Baxter's gun then was a tempting thought, but Kid left it to keep both hands free to carry Heyes. He reached for the second set of shackles. Armed with a handful of pebbles in his pocket Kid went back for their horses and gear and maybe just a little bit of payback.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

"How could you let them get away?"

Hopkins' angry shout caused Jubal to stir, but Baxter remained motionless. The aging bounty hunter scrambled over to the mustached man. Hopkins quickly flipped Baxter face up. The normally brazen man was uncharacteristically quiet. Baxter blinked his eyes, his mouth opened and closed wordlessly. He gingerly placed his fingers along the side of his head as if it was aching. Hopkins peered closer, but couldn't see any signs of damage. Jubal sat up now, watching his actions with concern.

"He… he must have hit me." Baxter's voice hitched as if he were in pain. "What… what happened?"

"You tell me," growled Hopkins. "Did you fall asleep?"

"No, I didn't fall asleep, there was a noise, something thumped," protested Baxter. He waved his hand towards the far side of the pines. "I went to check. He... he must have snuck up behind me..."

The angry man jerked Baxter upwards into a sitting position. Hopkins scanned his surroundings. The muddled footprints on the ground where the prisoner's had been led into the woods, away from the camp. There were no tracks to support Baxter's story of checking out an unexplained noise at the other side of the pines, no footsteps or drag marks to show how he got back to the fire.

"Don't bother with that pack of lies. You ain't hurt none," snapped Hopkins. "Where are my prisoners? And my shackles?"

" _Our_ prisoners," retorted Baxter as he became more alert.

Hopkins glared. He released his hold on Baxter as he rose to stand. The wily bounty hunter continued to assess the campsite. Beneath the pines, shredded pieces of rope joined an assortment of pebbles, twigs, sticks and leaves on the ground. The rope looked as if it had been shredded, or chewed, maybe. Could a man chew through a rope? Hopkins turned his head and grunted in satisfaction. His tobacco stained lips curled up at his view of the tether line… with all five horses.

"They ain't gone far without horses."

Hopkins pointed at the smear of tracks leading north. The unsteady Baxter peered at the ground, blinking his eyes. But it was Jubal who realized the significance of what they were looking at.

"One of them is dragging the other," Jubal stated. "Probably pulling the blanket."

Hopkins smiled. He might make a bounty hunter out of the green youth yet.

"Jubal, you stay with the horses," ordered Hopkins. "Pack up the camp while Baxter and I go fetch them two back."

"But… don't you want me to help?"

"Getting us ready to leave is helping."

Hopkins grabbed Baxter by the collar and hauled the swaying man upright. When Hopkins was sure Baxter wouldn't fall over, he pushed Baxter towards the flattened foliage heading north.

"He lost our prisoners, he's gonna work to find them.

"But it took all three of us to capture them last time," protested Jubal.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

"This way? Really?" Baxter stared at the tumbling rapids in dismay. "Across the river? Again? It's cold!"

The sun was fully above the ridge now. The two bounty hunters still hadn't caught up to their quarry. Hopkins fumed at the confusing trail. The drag marks disappeared shortly after they left camp, shortly before they reached the narrow stream the first time. Hopkins thought that Curry must have carried Heyes, but when the bounty hunters crossed the water, they found two sets of tracks side by side. To all appearances, it seemed as if two former captives walked together. The stride length indicated the men were walking freely without shackles. Where were his shackles? Hopkins wanted the expensive restraints back almost as much as he wanted Curry and Heyes. The trail continued away from the camp, crossing back into the shallows a short while later. The trail resumed on the opposite sandy shore bank. For the last half hour, Hopkins and Baxter followed the convoluted trail and now they were back at the water's edge.

"Quit complaining," grumbled Hopkins.

The two bounty hunters splashed across the shallow creek for the third time. Footprints continued together up the sloping bank for a bit, then for the first time, the tracks separated. One set of tracks plunged deeper into the woods. The other set of tracks headed back alongside the river towards their camp, the horses and Jubal.

"You follow that one," Hopkins gestured towards the forest. "I'll go after this one."

"We're splitting up?"

Baxter didn't sound happy at the idea. He cast a nervous glance at the tracks leading away from the river.

"You got a problem with that?" growled Hopkins.

"Camp is that way," protested Baxter. "How do I know you won't leave me?"

"You don't," snapped Hopkins. "But I want my prisoner's, my shackles, _and_ my reward. So I ain't leavin' just yet."

" _Our_ reward," reminded Baxter with a sniff.

"Gotta get them fellas back first," retorted Hopkins. He gestured with his pistol. "Now go on, get!"

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Hopkins cursed in frustration as the tracks led him back to the river's edge again. Since separating from Baxter he had zigged and zagged back and forth across this creek several more times and circled back north again. He was wet and cold and tired of this hunt. Cautiously, he crossed the slippery rocks. Tracks led up the sandy slope towards the woods again and then they disappeared.

"Now where have you gone?"

The sound of a stick breaking seemed to answer his question. Hopkins pointed his pistol in the direction of the rustling bushes.

"Come on out now!" ordered Hopkins. "I got you."

"Mmmph!"

Pistol in hand, Hopkins stepped closer to the source of the sound. A man stumbled forward. Covered in mud, gagged, wrists bound, a gun belt with an empty holster buckled low around his thighs, and wearing leg irons. At this distance, he was unidentifiable. Hopkins placed a warning shot into the dirt in front of the weaving man.

"Stop right there or next time won't be a warning!"

"Mmmph!" sounded the voice, higher pitched, frantic. "Mmmph! "Mmmph!"

Hopkins closed the gap between them. He leaned in and peered closer. Beneath the gag, a dirty handlebar mustache drooped.

"Baxter?"

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Jubal stopped playing his harmonica. The horses seemed to enjoy his music and Jubal found it soothing. Their gear was packed beside the tether line, ready to be loaded when Hopkins and Baxter returned, but waiting was hard. Jubal listened. The unfamiliar noise sounded again. Jubal tucked his harmonica into a pocket and pulled out his pistol. He stepped away from the horses. Cautiously, he climbed down the slight embankment towards the burbling creek. Jubal came face to face with the curly haired blond, Curry or Jones or whoever. The former prisoner stepped out of the shallow water and strode towards him.

"You? You're here?" Jubal sounded both surprised and scared. The pistol shook in his hands. The tall muscular man now carried a pistol too. Hard to tell with a sturdy hand holding the grip, but the weapon looked like Baxter's. "Are you gonna shoot me?"

"Wasn't planning on it," answered the soft spoken man.

"Then why are you here? You're supposed to be headed north, further into the mountains."

The intimidating man stepped closer towards Jubal. The youth backed up a step.

"I don't want to hurt you," the armed man spoke in a low calm voice. "But my partner and I need our horses and supplies back."

Jubal backed up another step.

"How did you get out of the shackles? And the rope?"

The pistol didn't waver as the blond fumbled his empty hand into his jeans pocket for a moment. He withdrew a narrow sliver of metal. Jubal realized the serrated edge would do nicely to saw through ropes, and the piece itself was small enough to insert in almost any keyhole. Curry, or Jones, smiled as he stepped closer.

"Joshua works with locks," the man answered. "Keeps this handy under his hatband."

"We didn't search your hats," sighed Jubal.

"I appreciate that," the man's lips curled up in a bit of a smirk.

The piece of metal disappeared back into his pocket as Jubal backed up again. The youth stumbled on the uneven rocks. The fast hand reached out to Jubal, but Jubal's arms flailed in an attempt to balance himself. Jubal's feet slipped, slid, fell out from under him. The twenty year old crashed to the ground. His head hit the rocks. Involuntary muscle reaction pulled the trigger. Jubal lost consciousness before the bullet hit a cottonwood tree, startling several birds into flight.

"No!"

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

"You want to tell me how you got yourself in this condition?"

Hopkins pulled Baxter's gag down in disgust. He reached for his knife to cut the ropes binding Baxter's wrists.

"He's quiet! He… he snuck up behind me…"

"You going with that story again?" interrupted Hopkins.

"It's true!" insisted Baxter. "He's slinging rocks…"

"Rocks?" grumbled Hopkins. He glared at the gun belt with its empty holster. "And now he's got your pistol too."

"Uh huh," nodded Baxter. Hands free, he started unbuckling the misplaced gun belt. "Took my gun, hogtied me with this bit of rope and my gun belt. The he locked the shackles on me!"

Hopkins reached into his pocket. He didn't find the keyring he normally carried. A sigh of frustration escaped his mouth. He'd left the key to the shackles in his saddlebags. No help for it, Baxter would have to hobble back to camp as best he could.

"You best start walking back to camp…"

"I can't walk like this!" protested Baxter.

"Other folk do…"

The sudden loud noise ended their argument. Hopkins turned towards the sharp sound of the shot. Without a thought for Baxter, he took off running towards their camp. Edna would have his hide if anything happened to Jubal.

"Don't leave without me," wailed Baxter.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-


	4. Desperate Hope, Luck and Faith

Disclaimer: Alias Smith and Jones does not belong to me. This is fan fiction, not for profit. Any references to people, places, businesses, etc. are entirely fictitious.

A Man of Few Words

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

"I'm coming Jubal," huffed Hopkins.

The out of breath bounty hunter leaned forward, hands on his thighs. His chest heaved from exertion. There hadn't been any more shots. And that worried Hopkins. Curry and Heyes were well known for being the most successful outlaws in the territory. A big part of that success was due to the fact that in all the banks and trains they had robbed, they never shot anyone. But Hopkins knew a wet behind the ears kid like Jubal was no match for a pair of hardened criminals. And desperate men were dangerous. Would Curry and Heyes shoot Jubal in their escape attempt?

"I'm coming."

Hopkins set off again. When he got a stitch in his side he alternated running with walking. The closer he got to the quiet camp, the more he worried.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

"Sure wish you'd wake up," murmured Kid.

The sturdy man had done what he could to make Jubal comfortable. He'd unpacked one of the neatly rolled blankets and laid it beneath a cottonwood tree. Then he'd moved the young man from the rocky riverbank to the shady spot. He quickly separated his chestnut and Heyes' black from the tether line. After he'd retrieved their gear and loaded the horses, he returned to kneel beside the young man. Kid laid the long legged young man's empty pistol on the blanket beside him.

"That fella Hopkins ought to be here any minute now," assured Kid. "I just gotta get these horses outta sight and check on my partner, but I'll be back."

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

"Finally," huffed Hopkins.

The aging man reached the site of their former camp. Jubal had done a good job packing up. Only a circle of blackened stones around a cold campfire showed that anyone had been there. Hopkins cautiously crept forward, looking towards the tether line. His shoulders slumped at the sight of a body sprawled out beneath a nearby tree alongside the remaining three horses.

"Aww Jubal," mourned Hopkins.

Hopkins stepped cautiously from beneath the forest. He plodded his way slowly down the slope towards the tether line. The nearest horse to Jubal, leaned down and snuffled at the young man's face. Jubal gave a soft, low moan of protest and swatted his hand at the animal before his arm flopped back down, motionless again. Hopkins eyes widened in disbelief. A tremulous hope flared in his chest.

"Jubal!"

Heedless of any lurking outlaws, Hopkins hurried past the horses and gear to the blanket spread beneath the shade tree. He knelt to examine his nephew, setting his pistol to one side. Shaking hands ran over the prone body. No sign of blood, just a small lump on the back of Jubal's head. Brown eyes fluttered open briefly and then closed again. Hopkins breathed a sigh of relief. Jubal was unconscious but otherwise appeared fine.

"Sure wish you'd wake up," murmured Hopkins in relief.

"I told him the same thing."

The bounty hunter started in surprise at the sound of the soft voice. Hopkins instinctively reached for his pistol, only to find a brown booted foot standing on it. His eyes travelled up the long damp denim clad legs to see Curry towering over him. With his sheepskin coat on, his former prisoner looked bigger and wilder somehow. The man's gun belt circled his slim hips and a Colt protruded from the holster tied down around his thigh. The fast draw's thumbs were hooked in his belt mere inches from Hopkins' nose. The grizzled man swallowed. Hopkins slowly raised his arms to his sides in a gesture of surrender, but Hopkins couldn't keep the anger out of his voice.

"What did you do to Jubal?" snarled Hopkins.

"Talked. He fell."

"Phht, I don't believe that!" scoffed Hopkins. "Listen Curry…"

The curly haired blond interrupted with the longest sentence Hopkins had yet heard from the man.

"Name's Jones, my friends call me Thaddeus."

"You and I both know better," snorted Hopkins. "Where is your partner?"

"Around."

The smile that accompanied that one word, gave Hopkins the chills. The bounty hunter wanted to look over his shoulder to see if he could spot Heyes. He wanted to grab Jubal and run. But Hopkins knew, if he ran they wouldn't get far.

"I suppose your partner's got a rifle aimed at my back," the tense voice responded. It was an effort to keep his voice level, but Hopkins wasn't going to let these men see his fear.

"Maybe."

The blue eyes calmly regarded Hopkins. The former prisoner's next words were another statement, not a question.

"You're not from around here."

The bounty hunter shrugged. He had wanted one last big reward, something extravagant, enough money to live out his last years in comfort. The lure of capturing the two most famous outlaws in the west, with a bounty of ten thousand dollars each, had been too much to resist.

"Don't usually come this far north," grated out Hopkins.

"Caused some harm."

Some harm? The steely voice sounded just as calm as before. Hopkins looked at his former prisoner in shock. Hopkins didn't know what had happened to Jubal, but his nephew lay still and unmoving. _Something_ had happened. And he wasn't quite ready to be so peaceable!

"So did you!" retorted Hopkins. He pointed at his nephew. "Look what you done!"

The quiet man merely shook his head in denial. Hopkins fumed. The bounty hunter reckoned there was some truth to the blond's words. The bounty hunters had caused some hurt to the two men they captured, but it just wasn't the same! Not the same at all!

"You're wanted men! Wanted dead or alive," snarled Hopkins. "Jubal's just a twenty-year old kid..."

"He's a man with a gun in his hand," interrupted the lean man. "Some folks woulda killed him just for aiming at them, not to mention pulling a trigger. Be glad he ain't dead."

Hopkins inhaled sharply at the reminder that he'd expected to find his nephew dead. But what was the escapee saying? Was the shot Hopkins heard from Jubal's gun? The sturdy man spoke again, changing the subject.

"You have something that belongs to my partner."

"Huh?" Hopkins looked puzzled for a moment, his mind still reeling. He realized the blond meant the things he'd taken from Heyes' coat. He pointed to his saddlebag. "In the small pouch."

The blond frowned and shook his head slowly.

"Got that back already."

Hopkins frowned, uneasy at the idea of an outlaw going through his things. He tried to remember. He'd tucked the skeleton key, lock picks, and knife away for safe keeping. It took a moment for him to remember the other item, the one he hadn't recognized and put away into his vest to look at later.

"In my pocket," answered Hopkins.

"Take it out slowly," nodded the cautious man. "Two fingers."

Hopkins lowered his hands and withdrew the folding metal gadget marked with lines and numbers. Curiosity made him pause before he held it up towards the armed man.

"What is it?"

"A folding ruler." Nimble fingers quickly reached out and plucked it from his hand. The tall man slipped the item into an inside coat pocket. At Hopkin's still puzzled look, the blond added, "My partner likes to measure all the angles."

"Right," snorted Hopkins. "And what's a pair of outlaws doing with a thing like that?"

The muscular man might have answered, but Baxter stumbled out of the woods at that moment. With lightning fast reflexes, his foot still firmly pressing Hopkins' weapon into the dirt, the blond pivoted to face the new arrival. His Colt leapt into his hand.

"Don't shoot! Please don't shoot me!"

An alarmed Baxter sank to his knees. Sniveling, he raised his hands high above his head. Hopkins saw a chance and took it. He snatched up Jubal's six-gun, rolled to the left in hopes of drawing any potential rifle shots away from Jubal. Hopkins came up in a crouch and pointed the barrel at the fast draw. He pulled the trigger.

Click.

Click.

Click.

Click.

Click.

Blood drained from Hopkins' face as he realized what he'd done. Instead of saving Jubal, Baxter and himself, he'd most likely signed their death warrant. If there had been ammunition in the gun, five shots at close range would most likely have killed the man standing in front of him. Hopkins wasn't a murderer. He just wanted to keep Jubal safe. The bounty hunter sucked in a shaky breath. This job hadn't turning out anything like he'd planned. No, not at all. Jubal was hurt. And for a man that had always prided himself on bringing the men he captured in alive, Hopkins woulda killed this fella. In the instant between one breath and the next, the Colt swung back around to point at Hopkin's head. Hopkins slowly lowered the empty pistol, sure he was gonna die.

"Mine's loaded," advised the low voice.

There was a moment's silence as Hopkins wrapped his head around the idea that Curry hadn't shot him. Heyes, wherever he was watching from, hadn't started shooting either. Jubal stirred, blinked, and clutched his head. The wobbly youth struggled to sit up. With a small groan, Jubal tried to turn away from Hopkins. But it was too late. The young man's mouth opened, shooting forth an odorous, slimy, partially digested mass that hit Hopkins in the center of his chest. The explosion was over in an instant. Hopkins held the youth, patted his back, murmured soothing noises. Hopkins glanced back up at Curry. The cold, hard mask in the man's blue eyes disappeared. The hardened outlaw was gone, if indeed he'd ever been there. Exposed, the man suddenly looked much younger than his years.

"Take your men and go."

Hopkins nodded, not trusting his voice to say anything at this unexpected reprieve. First the gunman hadn't shot Jubal. Then when he had every reason to retaliate in kind against Hopkins, the man didn't shoot him. Now more than ever, Hopkins knew this man was Jedidiah "Kid" Curry, a fast draw _and_ a peaceable man.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

"Ask him," hissed Baxter.

The aging bounty hunter tightened the last strap. The travois behind Jubal's horse would carry the young man until he was steady enough to ride again. Everything else but the rifles, pistols and ammunition was packed on their horses.

"I ain't gonna ask him," huffed Hopkins. "Be glad he's letting us go! Or have you forgotten he's the one holding the gun?"

"I ain't forgot!" snapped Baxter. "And I ain't forgot about that cougar neither!"

Hopkins glanced back at the tall blond. Curry leaned against the cottonwood tree, watchful, waiting the past twenty minutes for them to mount up and leave. By now, Hopkins realized Heyes wasn't standing somewhere in the woods watching his partner with a gun trained on them. The aging bounty hunter hoped to get them moving before Baxter figured that out too. Jubal was still groggy after a small bump on the head. How was Heyes? Hopkins wanted to be far away when Curry checked on his partner.

"You fellas about done?" called out Curry.

"Just need to get Jubal strapped on," nodded Hopkins.

The bounty hunter started towards his nephew. Heedless of Hopkins' advice,Baxter stepped away from the travois and hobbled towards Curry, shackles dragging in the dirt with every step.

"We'll need our guns and ammunition," insisted the brazen man.

Curry arched an eyebrow upwards.

"I don't think so."

Hopkins watched the two men as he got Jubal's arm over his shoulder, wrapped a hand across the gangly man's chest and hauled Jubal upright.

"It ain't like we're gonna come back and shoot you," continued Baxter. "We know your partner is watching…"

"You won't see him," warned the tall blond.

"It's just we can't go travelling through the wilderness unarmed..."

"Shoulda thought about that before."

"What about the cougar?" fretted Baxter. "We won't be able to defend ourselves!"

Hopkins led Jubal towards the travois, stopping between Curry and Baxter.

"You got a death wish? Don't rile him," hissed Hopkins out of the side of his mouth. He angled his nephew sideways a bit. "Help me get Jubal situated. We need to be going."

Baxter glanced over his shoulder at the watchful man waiting for them to leave. Curry flashed a tightlipped smile. Baxter backed away from the tall blond, stepping closer to Hopkins and Jubal.

"Alright, but you're gonna have to help me mount up," conceded Baxter. He brought his shoulder under Jubal's other arm. "And as soon as we're far enough away, we stop for the keys to these things!"

Another five minutes and they were ready to leave. Baxter was muttering about cougars again. Hopkins just wished he'd shut up.

"Cougar probably won't bother you," soothed Curry. "I'd be more worried about running across a mama grizzly and her cubs."

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

The bounty hunters rode until they found the next watering hole for the horses. It was then Hopkins checked his saddlebags. The pouch with Heyes' things was gone as well as one other small item. The rawhide stitching on the bottom corner was undone. Whether cut deliberately or just finally giving way through normal wear and tear, Hopkins couldn't tell.

"What do you mean the key to the shackles is gone?" demanded Baxter. "I ain't gonna ride side saddle all the way to Wildwood!"

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

"Unnh," protested Heyes.

Dark eyelashes fluttered, then opened. Rosy afternoon sunlight streaked through the bushes to dapple the rocky ledge. It was bright enough to make him scrunch his eyes closed. That hurt. He inhaled in a deep breath, hitching at the pain in his ribs. That hurt too. He hurt. Heyes realized he hurt pretty much everywhere, but he couldn't remember what happened. Another groan, this time one of frustration mingled with pain escaped his bruised lips.

"Unnh."

From out of nowhere, a cool wet cloth pressed against Heyes' forehead. The former outlaw tensed at the unexpected gentle touch. Another inhalation brought the scent of horse, gun oil and sweat. The soft voice confirmed his partner's presence.

"Sssh, you're safe," soothed Kid. "Where does it hurt?"

The quiet question triggered memories. Three armed men surrounded their camp before the coffee had a chance to brew. Heyes tried to convince the leader of the bounty hunters that Thaddeus Jones and Joshua Smith were not the men they were seeking. A man with hard, dark eyes raised his rifle. Heyes struggled to sit up. His damaged body swayed uncertainly as the world went spinning. Strong hands grabbed his shoulders.

"Don't think you're quite ready to sit up on your own partner," advised Kid.

Heyes blinked his eyes. Kid's face, marred by a small cut on his forehead, leaned closer. The blue eyes gazed at him worriedly, but Heyes reacted.

"Those men! Where are they? We've got to get out of here!"

"They're gone," answered Kid. He shifted his hold on Heyes. A steady hand reached for a battered tin cup. "Long gone. You've been out for a day and a half."

"Gone?"

Brown eyes blinked in confusion. Why would the bounty hunters leave? Those men knew who Thaddeus and Joshua were. They'd been caught, well and truly caught. Heyes knew from the look in their eyes. Even his silver tongue spouting desperate pleas wouldn't convince those men to release them.

"All you have to do is rest and get better," added Kid.

The cup pressed against Heyes' mouth. For a moment, nothing was more important than swallowing the cool, fresh water. Kid pulled the empty cup back. Heyes focused on his partner's battered face. He wasn't the only one hurt. Brown eyes quickly assessed his partner's injuries, bruises, cuts, chafed wrists. And there was a tightness around the blue eyes that told of exhaustion, worry, pain.

"But Thaddeus… those men… they'll be back…"

Heyes had hoped he would be able to convince the bounty hunters to release them, but he remembered the sure certainty found in the eyes of the oldest bounty hunter.

"Joshua, those men left this morning," soothed Kid. "They ain't coming back."

Heyes flexed his hands, no cuffs nor rope. He could tell they weren't at the same campsite where they'd been ambushed. He heard their horses nickering nearby. A glance through a tiny gap in the bushes revealed a trickling stream. On the other side of the river cottonwoods swayed in the spring breeze. Further up the slope, tall Ponderosa pines stood sentry.

"But… how… why…"

"Got lucky," replied the gentle man with a soft smile. "Convinced them to leave us alone."

"They let us go?" Heyes couldn't keep the surprise from his voice. "Really?"

"Don't you have faith in me?"

Heyes flashed a bright smile in response, his partner's lips curled up in an answering smile. Heyes really didn't have to think about it. How many plans had been made of nothing more than desperate hope, luck and faith in a partner? Heyes knew, Kid didn't talk much, but that never stopped him from making his point.

"Course I do," mumbled Heyes as he closed his eyes and drifted off to a healing sleep.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-


	5. Just Rewards

Disclaimer: Alias Smith and Jones does not belong to me. This is fan fiction, not for profit. Any references to people, places, businesses, etc. are entirely fictitious.

A Man of Few Words

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

"If you want, I can unsaddle the horses," suggested Kid. "We could rest here another day."

Heyes held on to the pommel for support. His head didn't ache nearly as much as it had when he first regained consciousness, but he still had the occasional dizzy spell. After three days camped here beside the river, it was time to go. They were low on supplies, and they were late to meet Lom. Their friend would probably be wondering where they were. And after all the work Kid did, packing up the camp and saddling the horses, Heyes wasn't going to ask his partner to put him back to bed. The dark haired man took a deep breath and mounted the horse in one fluid motion.

"No Thaddeus," Joshua settled in his seat. He flashed a smile at his concerned partner. "I'm really getting tired of listening to that cougar every night."

Kid's chuckle surprised Heyes. The blond mounted up and clicked the reins to start his chestnut in a slow walk, splashing into the water.

"The bounty hunters didn't like that cat screaming either."

"You ever gonna tell me how you convinced those bounty hunters to leave?" prodded Heyes.

"Yep."

Kid's smirk left Heyes wondering what was so funny? Heyes nudged his horse forward into the creek. He kept his horse well away from the deep spot. Already, the bounty hunters sunken weapons were covered with a light layer of sand and silt. Another few days and they'd probably disappear entirely. Heyes rode up the bank and pulled back on the reins as his partner dismounted.

"What are you stopping for?" prodded Heyes. "I thought we were leaving, looking for a nice quiet hotel with soft beds."

Kid knelt in the gravel and picked up a small shiny object. He held up the tiny key for Heyes to see.

"Could have used this a few days ago."

"Is that the key to the shackles?"

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Sheriff Lom Trevors lifted his gaze from the wanted posters on his desk. Feet stomped and shuffled across the porch outside. A shadowed form blocked the window at the entrance. A moment later, the door to the sheriff's office swung open.

"Quit gawking Jubal and get inside," ordered the gruff man at the entryway.

A tall, gangly youth, all arms and legs entered first. Jubal stared wide eyed in awe at the inner recesses of the jail. Quick eyes darted from the lawman at his desk, to the empty cells, to the gun rack. The young man's face lit up and he made a beeline to the wanted posters pinned to the back wall.

"You too Baxter!"

"But…"

The protest died at the glare from the man holding the door. A second man hobbled inside. His legs were shackled, the chains clanking against the wooden floor. The one called Baxter moved past Jubal to stand between the wanted posters and the solid wooden side door leading to the alley. The older man pulled the front door shut. He came straight to Lom's desk and leaned in close. The sheriff's nose wrinkled involuntarily at the odor emanating from the disheveled man.

"Name's Leroy Hopkins, bounty hunter," informed the grizzled man. "Sheriff, we had a run in with a couple of outlaws…"

"Kid Curry and Hannibal Heyes!" Jubal turned, grinning in excitement. He took an eager step forward, explaining as if Lom didn't know who Curry and Heyes might be. "The two most successful outlaws in the west!"

Trevors let an amused smile spread across his face. He leaned back. His chair balanced on two legs, the lawman appeared totally relaxed. Lom's sharp eyes observed the bounty hunter glance sternly at Jubal. The short man waved the younger man back. With a crestfallen look, Jubal turned back to the wanted posters.

"Kid Curry and Hannibal Heyes?" the dark haired lawman chuckled. "Hmmph, you don't say."

"I do say," insisted Hopkins.

"No one's seen those two around these parts in years… since about… oh… seventy-nine, maybe eighteen eighty," countered the lawman.

Trevors kept his voice light, conveying a tone of disbelief. For good measure, he widened his smile at the bounty hunter. All the while he wondered what kind of trouble Kid and Heyes had gotten into now.

"We caught 'em three days ago."

"You caught them?" Trevors straightened up in concern. All four chair legs thumped on the floor. "Three days ago?"

Trevors pulled his six foot frame up to a stand. He glared at the three bounty hunters. Hopkins stood his ground. The one he'd called Baxter backed up another step, thumping against the wall. The oblivious youth traced his finger over the lettering on one of the wanted posters, mouthing the words as he read them.

"If you captured two men, then where are your prisoners?" Trevors leaned down over his desk, his face mere inches from the shorter Hopkins. "What did you do with them?"

"They got away," groused Hopkins. He jerked his thumb back in the general direction of the shackled man. "Locked up Baxter in them shackles and kept the key."

"That's not right," objected the lanky young man. He peeled back another wanted poster. "You said yourself you thought the key was lost."

"Be quiet Jubal," ordered Hopkins.

Trevors tried to settle the uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. He was certain Hopkins wasn't telling him everything. And Baxter… there was something tugging at Lom's memory, but he just couldn't pinpoint it. It didn't help matters that he hadn't got a real good look at the dirty, trail worn man. The shackled bounty hunter was surely trying to stay out of his sight. Hopkins leaned in closer to Lom. He jerked his thumb to indicate Baxter again.

"We couldn't ride long and hard with him being like that," explained Hopkins. "Stopped first at Wildwood, but it's a ghost town now."

"I hope you're not thinking I'm gonna round up a posse to go after them," growled Lom. "After three days, those men, whoever they were, could be anywhere."

"No, of course not," nodded Hopkins. His lips spread wide in an obsequious smile, one shoulder lowered. "It's just… we tried everything to get those shackles open."

Lom glanced over at the shackled man, noticing for the first time the dented, battered padlock. It looked like someone had pounded a rock on it in an attempt to break it open.

"I was wondering, does Porterville have a locksmith in town?" continued Hopkins. "Or would you recommend a blacksmith? We need to get Baxter outta those things."

Lom started to answer, but the young man stopped thumbing through the wanted posters. His head tilted to one side as he read the words.

"Hey Baxter, there is a fella here that looks sorta like you!" Jubal exclaimed, his voice pitched higher, his words coming out so fast it was hard to understand what he was saying at first. "Only his name is Rufus Baker and he don't have a mustache."

Jubal turned to look at the Hopkins. His voice slowed as he sounded out the syllables of the unfamiliar word.

"What does fel…o… ni… ous assault mean?"

"Shut up boy, or you're gonna find out!" threatened Baxter.

The shackled man threw his arm across the youth's throat. The tiny knife in his hand gleamed against Jubal's bare skin. Lom glared at the desperate man. Hopkins gaped, opening and closing his mouth wordlessly. Baxter shuffled back further into the corridor alongside the cells, dragging Jubal with him. He stopped in front of the side door to the alley.

"Sheriff, you've gotta have something to undo these shackles," hissed Baxter. "Toss your keys over here."

Lom didn't want to do anything to jeopardize Jubal's life. The sheriff raised one hand and pointed at the desk drawer. Moving slowly, he opened the drawer and lifted up a heavy iron key ring. The keys to the cell locks were obviously too big for the tiny dented padlock on the shackles

"These keys?"

Baxter let out a groan of frustration. He leaned back against the wooden door, pulling Jubal off balance. At that moment, the rear door swung open. A flash of white hair was the only glimpse of Deputy Harker Wilkins that Lom saw before all three men tumbled backwards out the opening into the alley. Lom pulled his pistol and hurried after them. Hopkins followed close behind.

"What's going on here?" protested Wilkins.

The normally easy going deputy was the first to get up. His broad hands brushed dirt off his pants as he grumbled about _'people in a danged hurry'_. Hopkins pushed past Trevors. The bounty hunter moved quickly to help Jubal up off the ground. Baxter sprawled in the dusty alley, groaning, one hand pressed against his ear. A tiny trickle of blood seeped between his fingers. The knife blade quivered upright, pierced into the ground.

"Good job Wilkins," praised Trevors. "You've stopped an escape attempt."

The deputy looked up in surprise. He stopped brushing off his pants and grumbling.

"I did?"

The sheriff pulled his pistol and leveled it at Hopkins. The aging bounty hunter raised his hands slowly.

"We wasn't trying to escape," protested the man. His bushy eyes rose to disappear beneath his hairline. "I mean… Baxter mighta been, but me and Jubal…"

The bounty hunters words slowed to a stop beneath the lawman's stern gaze. Lom's eyes moved from Hopkins to the wide eyed young man. The youth raised his shaky hands too. Baxter remained unaware of the new threat.

"You're all under arrest."

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

"I sent Lom a telegram, let him know we'd be late."

Brown eyes slowly blinked open. Heyes grinned at his partner as he leaned back in the rocker once more. He had very nearly fallen asleep on the hotel's sunny front porch.

"You up to going to the diner for some supper?" continued Kid.

Heyes nodded. The weary man rose to stand beside his partner. He drew his brown jacket closer to his chest against the nippy spring air.

"Sure, as long as supper isn't fish."

The curly blond head tilted to one side. Kid regarded him quizzically.

"Thought you said you liked the fish I cooked."

"I did Thaddeus. Once, but not for three days in a row," grinned Heyes. "Let's get some supper."

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

"Sheriff, you gotta believe me," pleaded Hopkins. "Me and the boy, we ain't partners with him."

"You're riding with a wanted man," growled Trevors. "I don't got to believe anything you say."

Hopkins clutched at Lom's sleeve. Lom shook off the man's grasp.

"I just let Baxter join up with us in Denver," continued Hopkins. "I thought we might be safer with an extra gunman."

Lom pulled open the door to the cell nearest the sheriff's desk. The sheriff motioned for Hopkins and his nephew to enter. Baker, or Baxter, fussed and fidgeted in the last cell. The injured man held a cloth against his torn ear. Wilkins had gone for the doctor.

"Inside now," ordered Lom.

Jubal went first, dragging his feet. The wide eyes taking in the view from the inside of the bars didn't seem to be so excited now. Hopkins followed, but the older man stopped half in and out of the cell.

"Telegraph Albuquerque, Edna Banks," entreated Hopkins. "She'll tell you, I'm training Jubal to be a bounty hunter. We're law abiding folks! Really, we are!"

Lom noted the surprised expression on Jubal's face.

"Is that right?" demanded the sheriff. "You training to be a bounty hunter?"

The gangly young man shook his head in disagreement.

"Ain't never been out of New Mexico before. I came because I wanted to see Wyoming," blurted out Jubal. "Momma said I could go along with Uncle Leroy if I kept him outta trouble."

The young man looked at Hopkins.

"Momma ain't gonna be happy about this," added Jubal shaking his head again. "Nope, not at all."

Trevors put his hand against Hopkins shoulder and firmly shoved the man back into the cell. The lawman pulled the barred door shut, turned the key, locking the cell on Hopkins and Jubal with a clank.

"Telegraph office is closed now," stated Trevors. "You fellas are gonna spend the night here. Tomorrow morning, I'll telegraph Edna Banks in Albuquerque when I send the Denver law a notice about Baker."

"It's Baxter," insisted the ruffian in the last cell. "You've got the wrong…"

"Shut up!" three voices hollered.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Heyes watched his younger cousin with a fond expression. Kid reached for another biscuit. He split the small round bread in two and began to wipe up the last remains of his fried eggs over easy from his plate.

"Reckon we should be going when you finish," suggested Heyes in a soft voice.

Kid's blue eyes looked up from his plate. The curly blond head nodded in agreement. Kid swallowed before answering Heyes.

"We can probably reach Porterville by tomorrow night."

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

The door to the sheriff's office swung open again. Trevors pressed his lips together in a mocking smile. With all the people coming and going this morning, he probably should have left it open. The doctor had been back to check on Baxter's ear. Then Sam arrived with his tools. The blacksmith shook his head at the damaged padlock on the shackles and went to work. The first telegram response from Denver arrived a few minutes later. The second telegram arrived when Sam was leaving.

"Another telegram for you Sheriff Trevors," announced the tow headed boy. "Pa said to tell you he's sorry it arrived late. The operator over at Rooster Ridge sent it last night after we was closed, and then again just now."

"Tell him I said thank you," nodded the lawman.

Trevors accepted the missive, tipped the boy a nickel and unfolded the paper as the lad left. A slow smile spread across Lom's face as he read Kid's cryptic message. _Trouble. Late. Jones._ He set the paper on his desk beside the other two messages. Funny, he mused, Rooster Ridge was closer to Porterville than either Denver or Albuquerque. Yet that telegraph message was the last to arrive. Knowing the Kid and Heyes were safely on their way to Porterville made his next decision easier.

"Harker," called Lom.

The white haired deputy looked up from the stove. He held the coffee pot in one hand and a cup in the other. Lom picked up the telegram from Denver.

"Would you take this over to the bank?"

"Sure thing," agreed the deputy.

Wilkins set the coffee pot back on the heat, looked at the empty cup ruefully before he settled it on the shelf above the potbellied stove. The deputy ambled towards Lom.

"Make sure Miss Porter gets this message," added Lom. "And then it would be a good time to start rounds."

With a nod, Wilkins disappeared out the door. Lom turned to regard his prisoners. Jubal stretched out on the cot, looking like he was asleep. Hopkins sat on the end of his bed, elbows resting lightly on his knees, his head down. He hadn't said a word since last night. In the rear cell, Baker sat on his cot, one leg drawn up. He glared at everybody and everything.

"Hopkins, your sister telegraphed back," began Lom.

The dejected looking bounty hunter's head jerked up. Lom lifted the first telegram he'd received this morning up. In no uncertain terms, Edna Banks had told Sheriff Trevors that he better let Jubal and Leroy go. He hadn't yet received a telegram from the attorney she mentioned, but Lom was sure it would arrive before the day was out.

"She vouches for you and her son, gave a list of references too," informed Lom.

"You're gonna let us out?" Hopkins began to look hopeful.

Lom pursed his lips, his eyes narrowed. He set the telegram from Albuquerque back down on his desk.

"There is still the issue of you and your men waylaying innocent travelers."

"Innocent travelers?" spluttered Hopkins. He jumped up in outrage. "They weren't… they wasn't…"

The lawman glanced out the window. Outside, in the dusty Porterville street, he could see the determined Miss Porter striding towards the sheriff's office.

"Who were they?" prodded Trevors.

"Sheriff, Curry and Heyes, they're using aliases," confided Hopkins. He nodded for emphasis as if to convince Lom. "They're calling themselves Joshua Smith and Thaddeus Jones."

"Well that can't be," objected Lom. He swallowed a smile as the front door to the sheriff's office swung open again. Perfect timing, worthy of a Hannibal Heyes plan, he congratulated himself. "I've known Joshua Smith and Thaddeus Jones for several years now."

The slender dark haired woman stepped into the office clutching the telegram from Denver in one hand. Lom rose up from his chair to greet her. Miss Porter beamed a smile.

"Sheriff Trevors, did I hear you mention two of my favorite gentlemen?"

"You know them fellas?" blurted out Hopkins in confusion.

"Why yes," answered Caroline Porter, she tilted her head slightly to respond to Hopkins' question. "Joshua and Thaddeus are heroes around here! They saved the bank from some dastardly men! If they hadn't stopped those awful robbers we might not have a Porterville!"

Hopkins blanched at Miss Porter's gushing description of his former prisoners. The slim dark haired woman turned back to Trevors. She approached his desk and spread the Denver telegram on the surface alongside the Albuquerque telegram. She smoothed the paper flat with her hands.

"Sheriff, the bank has received the transfer of funds from the Denver Bank," smiled Miss Porter. "We are authorized to pay half of the reward money now. The Denver Bank will pay the remainder upon receipt of the prisoner Rufus Baker."

Lom ignored the grumbling coming from the back cell. His eyes watched Hopkins.

"Reward?" the bounty hunter's eyes gleamed. "For Baxter?"

Miss Porter looked suspiciously back over her shoulder.

"For Baker," clarified the bank woman. She turned back to Lom and hissed in a too loud voice, "Who is that man?"

"Bounty hunter."

"Me and Jubal caught Baxter!" Hopkins declared. Then greedily, he asked, "How much is the reward?"

Jubal stirred as his name was mentioned, but didn't wake. Miss Porter leaned away from the cell, her eyes narrowed.

"Who are you? And why are you in jail?"

Hopkins looked desperately at Lom. The sheriff answered Miss Porter's question.

"A slight case of mistaken identity," Lom tapped his fingers on the telegram from Albuquerque. "But I think we've got that all cleared up now."

"You gonna let us out?" Hopkins eyes lit up with hope.

Lom didn't answer the bounty hunter. Instead he directed his next comment to Miss Porter.

"Half of the three hundred dollar reward is one hundred and fifty dollars," stated Lom. "Is there an allowance for expenses?"

Miss Porter straightened up with a frown.

"One hundred and fifty dollars is the total that the bank is authorized to pay," sniffed Miss Porter. "There was no mention made of expenses."

Lom nodded. It was what he had expected, he just wanted Hopkins to hear Miss Porter say it.

"Meals and telegraph expenses add up to three dollars and forty-five cents," Lom stated. He turned to Hopkins. "As leader of the bounty hunters, I reckon that ought to come out of your share of the reward."

"Yeah, okay," agreed Hopkins.

Lom turned back to Miss Porter.

"Split three ways that would be…"

"What do you mean split three ways?" protested Hopkins.

Lom smiled. He held up his fingers as he ticked off the names.

"One hundred dollars for Harker Wilkins, forty-six dollars and fifty-five cents to be paid to Mr. Hopkins and Mr. Banks here," explained Lom. "The remainder to be paid in Denver."

"That ain't right!" objected Hopkins. "Me and Jubal…"

"Harker Wilkins stopped the escape attempt," interrupted Lom. "Since you brought the prisoner here, I thought you ought to get something for your efforts."

Hopkins gulped. For a moment he just stared.

"Of course you and Mr. Banks will need to get Baker to Denver," added Lom. "Train would be the fastest."

Hopkins leaned forward, his hands grasped the cell bars.

"How much are train tickets?"

"Forty dollars ought to cover three tickets," answered Lom. "You probably want to sell your horses and gear. It would cost extra to ship horses and tack."

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Two hours later, Lom stood by Hopkins. The last of the passengers boarded the train to Denver. Jubal already sat inside, on the aisle seat blocking Baxter from anyone.

"You getting on?" urged the sheriff.

"Yeah," nodded Hopkins. "Me and Jubal will get Baxter to Denver. Then we're gonna head home."

"If you need any help…"

Against his better judgement, Lom started to offer his assistance, but Hopkins shook his head.

"Nah, we can handle the likes of him," replied Hopkins. One bushy eyebrow went up inquisitively. "Even though we couldn't handle Smith and Jones."

Lom didn't say anything.

"If that's who they really were," prodded Hopkins.

Lom stared back at the bounty hunter. By now, the lawman had heard pretty much everything that had happened since the bounty hunters first came upon Smith and Jones' camp, including the details of the escape.

"There are lots of good folk in this town who know Thaddeus and Joshua," stated Trevors carefully. Then he added a question of his own. "Do you really think your nephew is fast enough to get a shot off at Kid Curry?"

Trevors noted Hopkins eyes widen at the implications.

"Would hate for a young man to get a dangerous reputation like that," added Trevors.

The grizzled man shook his head firmly.

"Don't you go starting any rumors like that," insisted Hopkins. "That boy ain't but twenty years old! He don't need that kind of trouble."

"Reckon Jedidiah Curry needed that kind of trouble?" prodded Lom. "He must have been twenty once."

The lawman and the bounty hunter stared at each other.

"Don't reckon anyone needs that kind of trouble," agreed Hopkins grudgingly.

The train whistle blew, sharp and shrill. The conductor stepped on the stairs to the last car.

"Last call! Last call!" shouted the conductor. "All aboard."

The train started to slowly pull away. Two men reached an understanding. Hopkins gave a short, sharp nod.

"You know, I always heard Heyes was the tricky one," he chuckled and stepped onto the train car. "It's a dang good thing we didn't find Curry and Heyes."

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Two trail weary men rode into Porterville late the next day, just as the sun was sinking in orange gold glory to the west. They stopped at the sheriff's office first.

"Thaddeus, Joshua," greeted Lom as they entered.

The blond nodded a greeting, but the dark haired man swept off his hat and smiled broadly.

"Hey Lom," the talkative man began. "Sorry we're late. You know, I really should let Thaddeus tell you about it, but there were these bounty hunters…"

Kid's lips curled up in a wry smile.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-


End file.
